If you were to come over to our house today and peek in our bathroom there are three things you would notice right away.

From Daily Daguerreotype

1. It’s about time for the bathroom’s weekly cleaning, but I’m sorry… I’m too busy compulsively working on my 3 year old quilt to realize, care, or do anything about it.
2. There is still no door. Matt found five layers of paint on the door that he was painstakingly trying to strip using The Worst Chemicals Ever before we decided to spring for a heat gun to peel off the old paint. As strange as it may seem, the bathroom door is low on his priority list because he’s a notorious Project Finisher and wanted to complete the laundry room first to fill his deep internal void. At least this is what he claims. I have a feeling he is putting off the bathroom door until LOST is over to prevent me from inviting people over for weekly LOST parties. He claims I “chitchat” too much during the tv show when we watch it with other people. WHATEVER.
3. And then this one… a grody tennis ball sitting on the pedestal sink. Shall I zoom in for you?

From Daily Daguerreotype

Yes, a drooly, filthy once-bright-pink tennis ball. Anyone who has spent five minutes with Berlin has figured out that she is OBSESSED with fetch. It could be considered clinical… or just the “golden retriever” in her. So every time I’m in Target and they have tennis balls in the $1 section, I pick up a bag. Or two. Or two hundred.

Well they seem to get lost in the backyard frequently, so we’re always pulling out new balls for her to play with. But then out of the blue she’ll find an old ball, and it’s always at the most inopportune of times. Like this morning when she was up and ready to go outside at 6 am. Matt walked her over to the back door and opened her doggy door which she quickly bounded through. Five minutes later I got out of bed for my 911th trip to the bathroom, and who should come in to join me but Berlin with her dirty, stanky backyard find. Knowing full well that when I headed back to bed she would lay down next to me on her own bed and tear the ball to shreds leaving felt and rubber pieces all over the bedroom floor, I quickly confiscated the ball and placed it out of her reach… on the sink.

She was devastated and went back to her bed to pout. Until she found another ball out of reach under my dresser which kept her occupied for about an hour.

So is a nasty tennis ball sitting on our bathroom sink unusual? Not at all. Just stroll through our downstairs and you will find them everywhere. On top of bookshelves, the fireplace mantle, hidden in drawers. Inevitably when I go into labor and need to be packing up my hospital bag, instead I will be frantically running around the house collecting old tennis balls and sanitizing the surface they were sitting on because MY MOTHER WILL DIE AND KICK ME OUT OF THE FAMILY WHEN SHE SEES THESE!

It is gor-ge-ous here. Ok, well not specifically right now. Right now it’s drippy and dreary from rain, but it’s 56 degrees, is what I’m sayin! The past few days have just been downright springy. And I almost don’t know what to do.

After Christmas, I had myself all ready to settle in for a long winter’s nap in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa and National Geographic. We had a week which was referred to as the “Deep Freeze” wherein our hot and cold water lines to the washing machine started to freeze up. But after that it became positively lovely, and I will be darned if that’s going to change.

Every morning I wake up and hear the chirping of birds outside my breakfast nook window, and I brew myself some coffee and sit down to check my email. And when I take the dog outside, many afternoons I don’t need a jacket. I could really get used to this.

All this to say, in the midst of the “Deep Freeze” I had a heart to heart with Matt wherein I mentioned that um, hello, we’ve moved to Tennessee where it’s not sposed to be so darned cold, and we bought a house, and I had kinda hoped that when it was so darned cold out we could just open the dog door to the backyard and let Berlin outside without having to shoe up and jacket up and scarf up to keep her company. I mean, we’re not apartment dwellers anymore. We have a fenced backyard. Dog should do dog things back there without the need of an escort. So I asked, would he please put together a Behavior Modification Plan for Berlin?

And he did.

See, our pup loves being outside, and she loves romping in our backyard. But she doesn’t like being places without us. We are her security blanket, so she’d rather hold her bladder in the house all day than go outside by herself, bless her heart. When we take her outside for potty time, she needs us to go out the door, down the back deck steps and out into the grass with her. Then and only then will she pee and poop. But she might not do it in the dark because she’s scared of the dark.

Well let me just say, my husband is a brilliant man and my dog, despite her many fears, is very smart as well. Matt put together a plan, and the key was consistency – we each had to do the same exact thing when he took her out in the morning and I took her out in the evening. Gradually we would make her try harder things, which wound up being not so gradual because she’s a very quick learner. (Aside, will trade husband for a week of potty training your toddler in exchange for two David Gray tickets at the Ryman!)

We started off by making her use the dog door when she came back into the house. Then we would stand at the bottom of the deck steps but wouldn’t go out into the grass with her. Then we stood in the middle of the steps. Then at the top of the steps. She didn’t like that phase. Then we would stand at the top of the steps and she had to go both in and out of the house via the dog door. Let me also note that no treats were used. See, she’s not food motivated, she’s praise motivated. So there was a lot of yelping and “WAY TO GO, BIG GIRL!” And our neighbors officially think we are nutty!

Then yesterday as the sun was setting, I took her outside, and she zipped right out the dog door, down the steps and into the grass. I sat in an Adirondack rocking chair on the deck while she played in the backyard, completely out of my sight. She eventually brought me a ball which I threw off the deck and into the backyard for her and this version of “fetch” ensued for about a half an hour. Then towards the end, when it was completely dark, she flopped in the grass to rest out of my sight chomping on her ball. So I snuck into the house, and about two minutes later she was back in the house via her dog door.

Of course, the next step will be just saying “Wanna go outside?” and having her run over to her dog door and out into the backyard without anyone’s accompaniment whatsoever. We’re getting there.

But frankly, with this gorgeous spring-like weather, I kinda wanna be outside with her. You know, endorphins and whatnot.

From Daily Daguerreotype

This morning I awoke to the beautiful realization that the bathroom renovations were complete, and that for the first time in almost a week I would be able to shower in my own bathroom instead of at the gym. So I grabbed my towel and danced into the bathroom to hop in a steaming hot shower.

Now I say that the renovations are complete, and they are. Except for one small thing. With the installation of a new threshold in the doorway, the bathroom door has been taken off its hinges so an inch can be cut off of the bottom allowing it to fit snugly back in place. Currently the bathroom door is leaned up against a wall in the living room. But that was of no concern to me. The cat and dog have both seen me naked, and into the shower I went.

Just as I was starting to lather up, I heard a hissing and swatting. And then, out of nowhere, Berlin had hopped in the tub with me. I was, frankly, stunned. After thinking about it for some time, I have no reasonable explanation except to say that I believe the cat chased the dog into the shower. Yes, I do.

Berlin is quite familiar with the shower, so her hopping in of her own accord is really not that crazy. Someone told us when we got her that the easiest way to bathe a big dog is to just take it right into the shower with you. And as strange as it may seem, it really is the easiest way. So about every 5 weeks or so, Matt, who is in charge of bathing the dog, takes her into the bathroom and about fifteen minutes later they both come out sparkling clean. (If you could only hear their conversations in there, and the singing, you would think much differently about my husband than you currently do.)

So after my shock wore off this morning, I realized it might be a blessing in disguise. After all, Berlin hasn’t been bathed in over 7 weeks, and is certainly overdue for a shower. But I had neither the dog shampoo nor her towels in the bathroom with me. So I told her to sit, and sit she did at the other end of the tub while I figured out a plan.

I might as well clean myself up, I thought. So I looked at her and she looked at me while I washed my hair and shaved my legs. All the while she was getting soaking wet, and all I had in that doorless bathroom was MY CLEAN TOWEL.

If I had even so much as thought of walking out of the bathroom to get her towel, she would have followed me dripping through the house. So I did what any decent person would do – I dried her off with one side of my towel, and I dried myself off with the other. And I daydreamed about a day in the near future when I really COULD have that new bathroom spa experience that I had been longing for. A shower in a clean bathroom, with a clean towel all to myself, AND A DOOR CLOSING OUT ALL OTHER CREATURES.

And then I saw it – my hair elastic on the floor. Berlin must have been between it and the cat; never a good place to be.

I just got back from an hour long walk with Berlin through the suburban neighborhood that our apartment complex is set in. I started off the walk contemplating the couple thousand dollars it will cost us to repave our driveway this spring. Such are the concerns of a woman adjusting to home ownership.

It’s a rainy fall day, and something about how it smelled brought me back to where I was six months ago. Around this time every evening, I would have gone outside to the unofficial dog park to chat with other dog owners as our puppies played together. It was always the highlight of my day. I miss it, in fact. I wonder if the dogs would remember Berlin if they saw her?

And on rainy fall days like this, I would walk down to the bus stop, right across from a mom and pop Italian bakery that made the world’s best stromboli, and I’d commute into the city with all of the familiar 9-5 strangers. I wonder about the girl who used to take the 101 with me… the girl with the great hair. I wonder what she’s up to these days. I wonder if she also picked up and moved halfway across the country to a place where people spend $300 on a pair of cowboy boots.

Six months ago, I might have spent a day like today around the corner at the local coffee shop with one of my dearest friends, laptops open and getting refills on our mochas. To get to the shop, we’d walk past my doctor’s office and my hairdresser. And past the liquor store with a great wine selection that I discovered too late.

That was fun.

But you know what else will be fun? When that driveway is paved it will loop around into the backyard. And Matt wants to put up a basketball hoop. Last time Matt and I played basketball I schooled him. For reals.

And even though we’ll be living in the city proper, we still have nearly an acre of fenced in backyard. My evenings won’t be spent in the unofficial dog park, but they’ll be spent playing fetch in Berlin’s yard. And I think a year from now… next fall, we’ll be sitting outside in the backyard around a bonfire with some friends singing “American Pie” and stuffing our faces with smores.

I miss you, Medford, but I gotta be honest. I’d take smores over stromboli any day.

Matt had last Friday off, so we spent the morning and early afternoon in the house spackling the drywall. May I quickly comment about spackling? Ok, yes? Thanks. I’m amazed at how many tools you need to spackle. You need all these knives and then corner knives and seam knives, and honestly it all seems a bit excessive. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just slime the spackle up onto the wall with the palm of my hand, but I suppose that’s neither here nor there.

After the first coat was on, we headed out with a car packed full of food, hoodies, and Berlin, and we drove to Northeastern Tennessee for a weekend in the self-proclaimed “Horseback Riding Capital of the Southeast.” We had somewhat moderate expectations of the cabin we’d be staying in, seeing as their website primarily displayed their kitschy decor. But MAN were we blown away when we got out there!

It was a new cabin, probably no more than five years old, set on a little pond on a quiet 7 or 8 acres. We had a beautiful stainless steel kitchen to cook up a storm in, but spent most of the weekend split between flopping in the hot tub and flopping in front of the roaring fire watching HGTV. Those first-time home buyers are so embarrassing. Did I say those things? UGH! I hope not.

I had booked this weekend away to celebrate our anniversary before we had even found our house, and had no idea that the weekend would pull us away from our renovations – in a good way. I think we both were a little reluctant to leave the house on Friday when we knew how much we needed to work all weekend. But when we got out into no-man’s land it was all worth it. Even though it rained through Saturday night, we got out to a winery, and blew all our cash on outstanding Mennonite fare.

But the best part might have been seeing the look on Berlin’s face when we opened the screen door and said, “Go play!” She was all, “No leash? No poop bag? I can run wherever I want and roll in smelly things?” She romped in the mud and rain and ATE UP going back to her country bumpkin roots.

It was so hard coming back from a great weekend to get back to the grind. I guess that’s always how it goes. Now I have to get my butt over to the house to sand down that first coat of spackle. Maybe Billy Joel will keep me company.

Berlin cut her paw pad two days ago while playing outside. It was small and bled only slightly so I let it be, assuming it would heal on its own in a few days. I was trying not to be over-protective. I told myself that a lot of dogs live outside without mamas and cut their paws all the time. They survive, right?

She licked it and licked it and licked it and finally last night we took another look and it wasn’t getting any better. We decided to clean it out, which made it bleed again, and then bandaged it up. And that’s when I started freaking out and crying. Because we were scheduled to go away the next day, she was supposed to go to Camp Bow Wow, and what if she has an infection and they won’t take her? And maybe I can change my flight? And maybe the infection will grow gangrene and she’ll have to have her leg amputated!?! And maybe the gangrene will spread and she will DOT DOT DOT!

Took her to the vet this morning and she’s OK. No infection. They cleaned her, bandaged her, and sent her on her way into the loving arms of Camp Bow Wow’s employees who told me they would take very good care of her, and that she was probably OK to play with the other dogs. And when I left her she was wagging her tail and very happy to be there.

I know, it’s no big deal. The whole thing was no big deal. I don’t know when I turned into such a worry wort. OK, I do know when it happened. And that’s just it. I’m having such a hard time even just having her out of my sight. Because, God, if ANYTHING happens to that dog I will curl up and die. She has held me up and has been my greatest comfort. And I don’t want to lose anything else that I love.

These things in life are lessons, right? So next time she cuts her paw pad, I know exactly what to do. CALL AN AMBULANCE.